


as time passes i only fall more

by baizee



Series: you are my future [1]
Category: GOT7
Genre: Fluff, M/M, jackson is like a bodyguard but it doesn't really say it, lol this is so short, thats it? - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 00:03:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4457636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baizee/pseuds/baizee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even in the shitty restaurant, with dim lighting and swarms of cigarette smoke Mark still looks beautiful, just ten years older.<br/>Ten years Jackson couldn't get back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	as time passes i only fall more

**Author's Note:**

> this is only a small thingy i wrote idek what this is

It wasn't cold but Jackson decided to bring a jacket anyways, the chance of being a gentleman for some poor soul toiling around in his mind. He took the piece of scratch paper out again. This better be right or Jaebum would have his ass handed to him when he got home, boss or not.

 

  
The restaurant wasn't one of the best Jackson had ever seen, but then again he'd been in Paris for his past job and nothing could compare to the raw beauty of France or it's buldings.

 

When he entered, Jackson was immediately greeted by a staff of three waiters who looked too eager to please.

 

Jackson took a look around, unimpressed. Figures. Empty.

 

In the middle of the quaint restaurant, was a small stage. Jackson suspected it was for aspiring musicians and late night performers who barely had a dollar to their name and needed to make quick cash as to not end up on the streets.

 

Jackson nodded politely at the waiters and asked to be sat down at a table for two.

 

If things go the way he wishes, the next seat would be occupant and he would have company for the night.

 

And if things go wrong, as they usually tend to do for Jackson, he would have to suffer in alcohol alone.

 

When the clock on the wall chimed 11 there was a surprising crowd of rowdy customers.

 

Groups of all ages and genders made their way to front of the restaurant, demanding to be seated before anyone else.

 

Jackson raised an eyebrow.

 

_Was the beer half off or something?_

 

As rows and rows of customers were being seated, the small stage was lit up with a few choice spotlights. Under the dim lights Jackson could finally see how worn the stage actually was.

 

Wait was that piano there before?

 

With years of experience under his belt Jackson leaned a little closer to the bustling customers, wondering about the sudden change of heart about the restaurant.

 

_"They said he was coming tonight,"_

 

_"I know I paid two days ahead to get a spot reserved,"_

 

_"Like that's anything. I had to pay last week to make sure I got to see him,"_

 

_"I've never seen him in person before, but they same he's got looks like no girl you've seen before. Wonder if he'll let me take him home,"_

 

_"Like hell! Have you seen yourself? I don't think young beauties like him go for pot bellies,"_

 

_"That's what you think but a couple bills from me and he'll be begging for me to take him home,"_

 

Suddenly uninterested, Jackson tuned out not willing to listen to a couple of perverts have at it.

 

His eyes were willed back to the stage as he saw a figure enter.

 

Jackson's jaw dropped. Maybe Jaebum did have his shit right.

 

_Mark was here._

 

Even in the shitty restaurant, with dim lighting and swarms of cigarette smoke, Mark still looks beautiful just ten years older.

 

Ten years Jackson couldn't get back.

 

Jackson sat up straighter, eyes trained solely on the beautiful person he had missed for ten years, now working himself on stage.

 

Mark was dressed neatly in an inexpensive suit, bowtie secured around his neck and his now blond ( _holy shit Mark was blond_ ) hair was styled up sophisticatedly and angel wings adorning his ears.

 

Jackson reached up with his hand to feel his own hair, which he had only dyed blond last week.

 

Mark, Jackson decided, looked much better blond than he did.

 

What shocked Jackson even more is when Mark sat down on the black bench set in front of the piano (the only grand thing in the whole place) and his fingertips rested lightly on the piano keys.

 

It seemed as if the whole restaurant was holding there breath. (Unconsciously, so was Jackson)

 

When Mark's fingers hit the keys, the air Jackson had been holding in his lungs, felt like it was being punched out.

 

_Holy shit._

 

In all the years he's known Mark, he never knew he could play the piano.

 

_Or sing._

 

Jackson almost fell back in his chair when he realized that sweet voice filling the small space of the restaurant belonged to Mark.

 

_Mark, I missed you._

 

When the song reached it's climax and Mark's voice ended with a surprised choke, Jackson looked up only to be met with soft brown eyes.

 

Acting like nothing had happened, Mark continued until the last note had been played and the loud applause from the audience could be heard from down the street. 

 

Many fangirls ran up to the stage, and as Mark bowed, they set wreaths of flowers around his neck and laid roses at the end of the stage.

 

Jackson watched in amazement. How could he have left someone so amazing back in Hong Kong? How did he leave someone so accomplished, someone who didn't even need him, but he needed Mark.  _So much._

 

As their eyes made contact, Mark jolted on the stage, the girls only giggling at his surprised action.

 

The girls filed away having already finished their fawning and their praising.

 

Before Jackson even had a chance to move, straggles of older men made their way to the stage and instead of wreaths and roses like gifts fangirls would adorn, stacks of money were placed into Mark's hands.

 

 _They were bidding,_ Jackson realized belatedly. 

 

Mark went with whoever handed him the biggest amount of money, that's how it worked.

 

Jackson wasn't about to let some pervert put his hands on  _his_ Mark.

 

Jackson looked down at his attire, hand feeling around in his pockets.

 

_Fuck why didn't he think to bring something other than his card._

 

He shrugged his shoulders and decided to use what he had.

 

Grunting, Jackson pushed through the mass of men and made his way to the front.

 

Giving the shocked Mark a charming smile and placing the card in his hand, Jackson announced as loudly as he could "However much you want,"

 

"W-wait Jackson-!"

 

Without an answer and with many protests from the surrounding men Jackson pulled on Mark's hand, guiding him out of the restaurant.

 

"Jackson! What the fuck?" Mark exclaimed, pulling his hand out of Jackson's grasp.

 

Jackson gave him a questioning look. "Like hell, I was going to let you go home with one of  _those_ men,"

 

"No. What the fuck as in why the fuck are you here?" 

 

"What? You don't want me here?" Jackson looked at Mark.

 

"That wasn't my question. My question is why are you here? To abandon me again? To lead me on? If you came back here wanting to- shit! Jackson your arm!" Mark cried, pulling Jackson's arm into his hand.

 

Jackson looked down at his arm in surprise. "Must've opened the wound when I was jostled around in the crowd," he replied sheepishly.

 

Mark gave him a look. "What was it this time?"

 

"Rogue gang in Paris," Jackson shrugged. "You know shit happens and they mistook Jaebum for his father. I was on the job and they were armed. No big deal,"

 

"No big deal? Jackson your arm is gushing a river of blood. How is that not a big deal? Come on, we're going to my house and I'll bandage it up," Mark demanded leaving no room for argument.

 

Jackson wasn't even thinking of stopping him, despite the fact that there was only a small patch of blood and it didn't even hurt anymore.

 

Jackson let the smile on his face grow as Mark tightened his grip on Jackson's arm dragging him to his car, when he thought Mark wasn't looking.

 

Mark was good at seeing things he wasn't supposed to.

 

 

-

 

 

"STAY STILL," Mark growled rubbing the alcohol over the wound with a cotton ball.

 

"Yi-En it hurts," Jackson whined.

 

"You lost the right to call me that when you deserted me ten years ago," Mark quipped.

 

"Ge," Jackson called, pouting. 

 

Mark pushed into the wound with his finger.

 

"Fuck I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Jackson cried, mouth open in pain. 

 

Okay so maybe the bullet wound didn't completely heal, sue him.

 

"Thought so," and if you say Mark sounded even the smallest bit amused he would hit you.

 

"A big baby as always. It's a miracle you even have your job,"

 

"Mark, I missed you," Jackson disregarded the earlier jab at his pride.

 

The hand cleaning his wound stilled, but only for a second.

 

"Fuck you," Mark whispered.

 

"Everyday in Paris, I thought of you. I even got you something," Jackson said, his face moving closer and closer.

 

"Fuck you," Mark said again, stronger this time. "You probably found a beautiful french girl and took her back to your hotel. You can't lie to me. I've known you too long,"

 

"I'm not lying. I missed you Yi-En and I want to be with you," 

 

Jackson smiled when he realized he wasn't corrected this time.

 

"If you think you can walk back into my life, whisper sweet things for me to hear and all of hell is forgiven, you have more to learn than I thought," Mark snorted, edging his face away while still maintaining his grip on Jackson's arm.

 

Jackson leaned in.

 

_If you think you can walk back into my life and never leave again, I'll forgive you for anything._

 

Mark always had a habit of saying things he didn't mean.

 

-

 

 

The next morning Mark's skin burned with the memory of Jackson's fingers. 

 


End file.
